Flatline
by The Fetid Conceited
Summary: Chapter 5 up. Albel confronts his inner demons with the help of another demon. AlbelxRomero possible Alnel fic. Beware of plot twists in the future. Nel makes her appearance at the end of 5 and in 6 not written yet.
1. Twisted Reflections

Flatline A story by The Fetid Conceited 

_Disclaimer: I don't own Star Ocean, but I own this damned fic, and the cat that has been sitting on my lap this whole time._

_Depending on the reviews I get for this thing, I might update faster. Motivation, you know?  
And I might discontinue my old fic. Yes, I was inspired by LeFox to write an Albel/Romero fic, so here goes nothing. _

Ahem_ Anyways…_

_Pairing: Albel/Romero_

_Warning: Well… I'm sure everyone knows the warnings for a pairing fic._

_  
_X-X-X-X-X-X-X

The steady pattering of rain against the window resounded through the cozy, sparsely-decorated room. The firelight sent shadows flickering and dodging through what few furnishings there were, giving off the illusion that the room was quite wild and alive. In truth, there was but a lone soul present, gaze fixed on the storm outside. That soul was Albel Nox.

A warm sensation flourished near his hip, and Albel quickly untied the strap pinning the sword to his side. As it fell to the floor with a dull thud, he sighed as he inevitably heard and descried the Crimson Scourge's cryptic message.

_Are the eyes in the reflection comprised of red flame?_ The sword asked, already knowing the answer. It always did, but it asked only to torment its Chosen One.

"…Yes," Albel answered after a long pause. The silence weighed heavily on his mind, forcing him to restate his answer to break it. "Yes, they are."

The sword was referring to an event taken place nine years ago, his failed Accession of the Flame. His mind always meandered to that forsaken day, the day he lost the one man he revered. The bloodcurdling cries of his father plagued his dreams and haunted his consciousness, sending him through a Catholic guilt-trip.

_My wielder is weak._

"…" Albel's gaze shifted to the smouldering flame that vaguely illuminated the quickly-darkening room. As the heat from the hearth deteriorated, the room became algid with the insurmountable wintertime temperature of Airyglyph. It was a frostbite inversion of calefaction comparable to the dark swordsman's caustic retorts. Said man sighed softly, watching his breath curl in futility as its smoky form dissipated in the cold room.

Glancing about himself in a haphazard attempt to survey his surroundings, Albel's bored gaze settled on the mirror on the far side of the room, framed with frost. He silently scrutinized his reflection, finally classifying himself as a living contradiction. He wore violet thigh-high stockings under a revealing violet sarong, and a skin-tight violet crop top exposing intemperate amounts of skin, enough visual alcohol to send the mind through a stupor. Jet-black, tousled hair framed his tantalizingly alluring yet terrible countenance, and the faded gold ends of his locks brushed against his fine, ashen skin. Blood red, black-ringed eyes met blood red, black-ringed eyes in quiet contemplation. Once again, his gaze drifted and settled on the claw reflected in the mirror. Its polished surface was flawless, each scale-like plate overlapping the other, offsetting the bright reflection of light with shadow. Each deadly blade-talon that encased his fingers was sharpened against whetstone and honed to perfection. Despite the countless lives felled by his left metallic hand, there wasn't a fleck of blood as evidence to its atrocious acts.

Albel Nox couldn't resist smirking at himself; that macabre smile that earned his nickname of the Twisted one contorting the contours of his mouth and exposing deadly, pearl-white fangs. He laughed sardonically at the frail-looking man reflected in the mirror, slowly raising one sharp talon of his claw to the side of his face and watching his reflection hopelessly mimic his masochistic intentions. His cheek stung acutely as he raked his claw across the tender skin. Blood slowly dribbled down his face and he could feel stinging pain pulsate in synchronization with his heartbeat. He apathetically wiped the thin film of blood on a rag thrown on the table, thus restoring his talons to their former shine. However, he neglected to tend to his newly acquired self-inflicted cut.

_My wielder is weak._ The sword hummed in response to Albel's actions. _You are not a Stoic man, Albel Nox. You are weak. You administer pain upon yourself to escape the thoughts that will lead you to come to terms with your father's death and your survival. You are weak._

Albel rounded on the sword dropped carelessly in the corner. "If I'm as weak as you say I am, then why did you choose me as your master? Why didn't you just claim my mind like you did all the others? Watch your tongue, you damned piece of scrapmetal!"

_You were my choice merely because you are the blood relation to my last master. You passed my test through self-loathing._

"You said 'hate is the root of power', and my father never hated _anyone_-"

_You're wrong, _the sword interrupted. _Your father harbored hatred for the woman that wronged him. A personal vendetta fueled his rage._

Albel glared angrily at the sword. "Who? Who wronged him? Tell me, you useless whittler's knife!"

The sword yielded no answer, once again returning to the visage of an ordinary sword.

"**Damn it**!" Albel cussed loudly, slamming his metallic fist into the table, splintering wood. "Damn it all! Why can't you tell me anything! Why must you always criticize me like this! Just give me _one goddamn answer_! Why can't you tell me anything…" His voice trailed off as his throat constricted. His vision misted in revelation, the room before him gaining a surreal demeanor. "Goddamn her… my mother…"

---

The tall, lithe man meandered listlessly through the barren landscape of the Traum Mountains, maladroitly kicking snow into burrow holes, hoping it would pack like permafrost and suffocate the damned rodent. When he wasn't cruelly hellbent on the destruction of innocent creatures, his mind settled on the events of the past month, after the war ended and other complex events subsided. He simply could not, for the life of him, identify and clarify the turmoil within him.

Biting wind from the north roused Albel from his thoughts, and he instinctively turned his attention to the opaque shine of the sun shut out by steel-grey clouds. Only a faint sliver of the sun could be seen from behind the bleak mountains, and the Twisted One took this as his queue to return, once again, to the stagnant pit of a castle that was now his prison.

Upon revisiting his room, his eyes were immediately drawn to the table where he had splintered it. Apparently someone had trespassed and either repaired or replaced it, as it was in pristine condition. Albel disregarded it, as he had nothing to hide in his room, and collapsed on his bed to think idle thoughts.

A staccato knock at the door stirred the man from his ponderings, and he directed his bloody gaze toward the knob, watching it slowly twist with apprehension. A messenger stepped forward from the shadowed safety of behind the door, visibly shaking as he entered the asylum of the Twisted One.

"E-excuse me, S-sir…" The man stuttered.

"Spit it out, idiot, I don't have all day to listen to you fumble for words." His patience grew steadily thinner for gutless men.

"Th-the king… wants t-to see you…" Having delivered the message, the man hastily bowed and sidestepped out of the way as to accommodate the dark inhabitant of the room.

Albel slowly rose from his place on the bed and regarded the smaller, cowardly man with quiet abhorrence as he made his deliquescent exit of the room. He traversed the hallways with mellifluous grace, finally stopping in front of the king in the audience chamber. "You called?" Albel asked, voice laden with contempt.

"Yes, I did," the king answered, with blatant disregard for any subliminal messaged the moody swordsman might be trying to imply. "I want you to explore the recently-discovered catacombs below the dungeon. I've sent scouts to survey the area, but none of the six have returned. Ergo, the situation warrants a capable warrior. Since you've been restless, I've decided you would be the best choice."

"So you want me scurrying around in a filthy cesspit prodding rotted, maggot-infested cadavers for your own curiosity?" Albel retorted.

"To put it in crude terms…"

"You're out of your fucking mind…" Albel concluded, turning on his heel. His sarong whispered about his legs as he stalked out of the room. Once out of view, he shook his head, rattails mimicking the motion sinuously. "Out of his fucking mind…"

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Note 1: An anachronism used as a degree to describe how miserable he is at the loss of his father. Don't sue me, as I am not trying to bash this religion.

_TFC: And so ends a chapter in the life of Albel Nox. It didn't go as well as I wanted it to, but… I've seen worse on this site. At least it's grammatically correct. For the most part. So there's no yaoi or anything of the sort just yet, I'm sure it will surface in the next chapter. What an insipid word document. Perhaps I'll have better luck in the next one._


	2. Charnel House Tussle

**Flatline**

_A story by The Fetid Conceited._

_Disclaimer: I only own Star Ocean in my dreams. But at least I get to own this fic. Though I ponder if it is a curse, or…_

_LeFox: Thanks for the support, my lone reviewer…_

_Warning: I will be exploiting Romero's personality, and because I'm only given a few lines from the story to work with, you'll have to bear with me…sweatdrop by the way, if you've not noticed, I neglected to proofread for fear of becoming fully aware of this chapter's crappiness…_

_Pairing: Albel/Romero… Now we shall finally meet the other half of the equation._

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The catacombs showed every sign of neglect imaginable. Quicklime had eaten away the stone walls, and water began to leak through the chips and cracks. The occasional droplet descending from the ceiling and the echoing footsteps of the lone swordsman were the only sounds to be heard in the dank pit. It was both a blessing and a curse to the two-tone, for he knew there was not another present in the catacombs, yet his location would be far too easy to pinpoint, making him a sitting duck for a preemptive strike.

Albel came to a halt in front of a rancid pile of half-cooked meat and bones, apparently victim of an acid bath or equally-painful and demeaning torture. The swordsman wrinkled his nose in disgust, hastily detouring around the pile of rotted flesh. He was not yet five feet away from it when it manifested into a horrific miscreation only found in terror-stricken nightmares. Albel regarded the abomination with trepidation, quickly backing up to widen the distance between them. _This… thing_, he supposed, _must be one of the king's subordinates… Or what's left of it…_

The creature roared and lunged at him clumsily, a move which Albel deftly dodged with his superior agility. However, he was left in a precarious situation in which he was pinned against the catacomb wall. The creature, taking not of that fact, used Albel's situation to its advantage and made another pass at him; to which, Albel responded, by sinking to the ground and arcing his sword upward in a more powerful simulacrum of air slash.

The manifestation let out a bloodcurdling shriek as its belly and throat were slit open vertically, spilling fetid, carious, baked meat on Albel. Grimacing and suppressing the urge to retch, Albel kicked the sack of putrefied flesh away from him and heaved a sigh of relief. It wasn't every day that Albel Nox was caught off guard.

"I'm impressed," a languid-yet-lustrous voice commended. Clapping reverberated through the hallway to further support the statement. "It's been a while since anyone has gotten even _that _far."

"Show yourself," Albel growled menacingly. "I've no lenity for cowards…"

"Very well." Came the curt reply, and was almost cut off in a prosaic materialization.

The being that stood before him was utterly transplendent. It took all of Albel's discipline to refrain from gaping at the awe and beauty this creature beheld. Silvery strands of evenly-cut hair framed an equally pallid aristocratic face frozen in stoicism. Astonishing chestnut eyes silently regarded and perlustrated the young man splayed before him. The young male was clothed in only the finest of material; a luxurious black dress shirt masked his silken skin elegantly, accented by a violet-trimmed black cape draped about his shoulders. The complex silver emblem on the back shone brightly in the dark dungeon. Arcane accentuations of matching colour to the emblem flowed eloquently into the consubstantial design of his pants, which were accessorized through use of velvet bands. Held firmly in one gloved hand was a daunting broadsword enveloped hungrily by orange ever-burning flame. Albel's eyes drifted to the shadow below the levitating celestial, noting the presence of ominous devil's wings.

Albel was roused out of his ascertainments by the being's voice. "I am Romero, King of the Dead. Your skills are noteworthy, but insignificant next to my own. What a pity you condemned yourself to oblivion by trespassing down here. Now I'm afraid you'll have to die."

"How unfortunate," Albel mocked, "that you crossed paths with Albel the Twisted. You're likely a walk in the park compared to some of the scum I've dealt with effortlessly. You're the King of the Dead, you say? Fine. I'll make you a deal. Resurrect my father and I'll spare your life."

Romero's cold-hearted laughter sent chills down the two-tone's spine. "What a pompous, ignorant mortal you are. Mocking me earns you a fate worse than death…" His sword flared to life, further illuminating the dark passage, and he was presented a better assessment of Albel's juxtaposition to himself. The defiant wretch was sitting against the wall, legs splayed out in an utmost flamboyant manner, skirt hiked up from the slide to the ground. _This man would make the perfect playtoy_, Romero mused to himself. "I'll make you a deal. Should I lose to you in a duel, I will resurrect your father. However, should _you _lose the duel, your soul will be mine to keep."

"Cut the semantics, worm, and let's get started." Albel rose to his feet, dusting himself off before stepping forward.

"Such brash words for a simple mortal." Romero chided. The dark deity teleported out of sight; he later reappeared behind Albel, catching him off guard. Quickly gathering his wits, Albel reversed his hold on his sword, thrusting it behind him in an upward inverted arc, thus catching Romero's collar. The vampire groaned in surprise and incredulity, retaliating against the lithe man by impaling the ground, sending molten flame shooting into the air. Albel narrowly evaded the rapidly-expanding pool of lava, and backed away for safety precautions.

"You'll pay for that…" Albel hadn't even a chance to turn toward the voice before Romero slashed at his back, sending a spray of blood across the floor. Albel staggered, then whirled around in a graceful horizontal slash sending swirls of violet shockwaves about him. However, it was too little too late as Romero once again stabbed his sword into the ground, kneeling before it as if it were an altar. A black pagan symbol scrawled itself across the ground in a nine-foot diameter, using Romero as the centre. Black, viscous liquid slowly flowed inward toward the vampire, cohesively bonding to form a malefic abyss. A demon comprised entirely of blood rose from that abyss, poised to attack with its bloody sword.

Romero rose from his prayer-like stance. He gestured to Albel with his sword, almost nonchalantly. "Kill him."

The demon burst forth with immense speed, blood splattering everywhere and melting anything it came in contact with. Albel broke and sprinted down the charnel, ducking into a niche in the wall empty of bones. It was a tight fit, but it apparently sufficed as the blood demon bowled past him in an onslaught of rage and fury. He crawled out of confinement when the monstrosity passed, turning to regard it whilst it simultaneously turned to survey its work.

Albel froze like a deer in headlights. There would be no escaping the demon if it came back for a second pass. However, it simply smirked triumphantly and melted into a pool of blood at the end of the passageway. Albel hadn't a chance to sigh from relief when Romero was upon him once again, slamming the frail swordsman into the wall, causing him to cry out in pain.

Albel's fine features contorted in agony as he attempted to overpower Romero in a deadlock. Unfortunately for the two-tone, it was clearly no contest as the dark being held him in check with one hand. "Your soul is _mine, _Albel Nox…" he whispered, inches away from Albel. The swordsman let out a tortured shriek when the vampire crushed him against the wall with his own bodyweight.

The Twisted One's vision was fading, the pain overpowering his senses. He could feel his ribs beginning to bend from the stress, no doubt they were to break should they undergo such pressure for much longer. The strength was ebbing from his arms and blood was beginning to trickle down his chin. A recent internal injury acquired from the battle urged him to cough, dislodging the blood accumulating in his lungs, but such an act would mean certain death. There was only one option left to save himself.

He kissed Romero. The vampire yielded in surprise of the unexpected-yet-welcome action, allowing Albel ample time to run him through. He pierced the dark king's stomach without breaking the kiss.

Romero finally broke away, staring at the swordsman with shock and sadness. "Why…" he questioned, facial expression transitioning to anger flawlessly. "Why the hell did you pull an idiotic stunt like that, you pathetic tramp!" Anger blazed in the deity's eyes as he raised his sword, poised to split Albel's skull in two.

"M'lord!" Standing at the entrance of the catacombs was a troupe of perhaps twenty heavily-armoured men, each thirsting for the blood of the man who almost claimed the life of their captain.

Romero lowered his sword, completely disregarding the troupe and turning his attention to Albel. "We shall finish our little duel later." He ushered, stroking Albel's cheek before dissipating entirely.

Albel let out a sigh of relief before allowing the darkness he had suppressed for so long wash over him. The soldiers gaped in consternation as their lanky general collapsed in unconsciousness.

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TFC: It still wasn't as long as I am used to, but I suppose it will suffice. However, lack of reviews lead me to question my abilities and this fic's quality. Either that, or FF hates me and refuses to allow my story posting in the search area.


	3. Reality, Fantasy, and Surreality

**Flatline  
**

_A story by The Fetid Conceited_

_Over 100 hits!_

_Meru Seki: Thank you for your support. And you're right; reviews don't reflect the capabilities of the author._

_The crazy authoresses CAT and AMS: Whew! Quite the name… Sorry about such a long wait! With finals around then Christmas break and then my dad getting new computer games, I've not the time to update, nor the ability! But rest assured, this chapter will most certainly please (and be longer to compensate for the wait)._

_Pyroclastic Flow: Thanks for your support, as well. Although, I'm left to wonder what the sweatdrop was about… sweatdrop Am I doing something wrong ? And about that line… you're most certainly right. It's off, and I need to fix it sometime._

_Lucrecia LeVrai: I'm glad I'm helping you with your vocabulary, then! I guess this is a multipurpose fic… And when using the word Catholic, it was an anachronism to better explain the guilt trip. Sorry about the confusion._

_Dragon Chyld: I really appreciate your compliments on my writing style! They really help to ease the trepidation I have of posting._

_Icychickadee: I'm glad I have so much support for you. This has really helped to motivate me to kick my dad off of the computer and write._

_All readers/reviewers: You have my undying thanks for reading my fic, reviewing it, and supporting my style of writing. I sincerely hope that the rest of this fic lives up to everyone's expectations._

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Famished flames licked the vitrescent floor expectantly, hoping an unlucky victim will shatter the surface and plunge to an excruciating death. Great pillars framed the inner chamber, with hearts of flames searching for a single flaw with which to use as an escape. The fire that pulsed within the first great arch never ceased to draw a smile from the normally-stoic face of its owner and caretaker. Romero sauntered through the immense chamber, silently regarding the room with satisfaction. His footfalls echoed through out the sparse room, contrasting with the continual hum of the flames. He halted as he stood before the crown jewel of the room, the throne.

The throne was comprised of a thin, glass-like material similar to the rest of the chamber, embellished with silver runes and gold archaic writings. The fire that seethed within it transitioned from blue to purple, effectively portraying its creator's mood through different shades and hues. Romero rested one fair, spidery hand on the arm of the throne, once again smiling as it was cool to the touch. He carefully lowered himself into the depths of the throne, reveling in the comfort it yielded. Never has this room failed to raise his spirits.

"I must admit, he's a notch above the rest of the mortals…" Romero mused aloud. "However, it's always been difficult to sustain an existence in the material plane. Ergo, he had the upper hand. I suppose I'll just have to make a deal with some wretched soul to have _them _do the dirty work. Did you catch all of that, Mattalun?" The king glared fixedly at the double-doors that bore the same emblem as what shone on his cape.

The doors beneath the emblem dissolved in a sudden burst of flame, and the silvery design lingered in the air for another second before disappearing in a wisp of smoke. A well-dressed count made his timid entrance. "Yes, m'lord." He refused to meet the harrowing gaze of his master.

"Good. Now find me a soul that has played a large part in Albel Nox's life."

"Your majesty, wasn't he part of that group of travelers that cam to the Ancient Ruins of Mosel?"

"Why yes, yes he was. In that case, you should know exactly who to look for."

Albel slowly drifted back into consciousness only to be greeted by the prosaic sight of a stone ceiling. He stared fixedly at it, hoping the knowledge that the wall is not spinning like a pottery wheel would help right his vision. It didn't. After deciding 'to hell with it', Albel shut his eyes altogether and sat up with the help of the headboard as a crutch. A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over him and he instantly regretted his decision.

"I guess you _are_ still alive. Tch, what a shame." The voice was so familiar, yet Albel could not quite place name with face. "You sent this kingdom to hell while I was gone," reprimanded the man as he sauntered into the room. Albel's eyes were drawn to the cape swirling about the muscular legs of the lord. There was only one person in Airyglyph who has worn a cape like that, aside from the king: Duke Vox.

"What the he- wait, what am I thinking? I must be dreaming," Albel replied to the presence of his hated adversary, dismissing any theories as to why he would still be alive.

"If you were asleep, this would be so much easier…" He drew his sword in response. He approached the bedside, ignoring Albel's fiery insults, and jerked the lithe swordsman's head back to the pillows. Raising the sword executioner's style, Vox smiled triumphantly. "I've waited a long time for this."

Albel knew it would be pointless to struggle. There was nothing he could do to overpower Vox or stop the impending slash that would surely decapitate him. However, even though he knew that the next breath he took would b his last, he wasn't afraid. He was livid. He had planned to end the life of the miserable little wretch that hid in the basement of this atrocious dump. He had wanted to become the man his father was. He had sought to cast away the trepidation he held toward trusting and relying on others. Now every hope, dream, and aspiration he intended to fulfill will be silenced by the fell swoop of his loathed enemy's sword, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Even so, he cycled through bold attacks, each more desperate than the last. Blocking the blow with his claw would only ensure his death would not be instantaneous, and there was no chance that he could overpower Vox in a deadlock. There was, for the second time in his life, nothing he could do to stop death. He watched with fury burning brightly in his blood-red eyes as the blade began its descent, and those same blood optics widened in disbelief as the blade froze an inch above his throat.

"Dammit," Vox muttered. "I'll finish you off later." He vanished into quickly-fading black smoke.

"You should've answered me if you were awake, Albel," The king stated disapprovingly. "How are you feeling?"

The two-tone snarled angrily at his king. "You never told me that Vox was still alive…"

The king sighed in response. "I think you need more rest, Albel." He waived away Albel's forthcoming retort. "You're delusional. Those beings from another planet killed him. Now I'll thank you to keep your hallucinogenic fantasies to yourself while in my presence."

"Hallucinogenic _fantasies? _You think that Vox being alive is a _fantasy? You're _the delusional one…"

Arzei sighed and shook his head in recognition of the futility of his efforts. "I'm not going to argue with you over a petty dream, Albel. When you're feeling well again, report to me." He gave a curt nod to the wiry man before exiting the lifeless room.

"It wasn't a dream…" Albel protested aloud. "It _can't _have been a dream. Someone's hiding something, and the king has to be behind it…" Once again Albel attempted to assume a sitting posture, but only managed to stifle a yelp from the pain.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

_Not much to go on today. Sorry about that… Anyhow, I'll try to get the creativity flowing again so I can crank out longer chapters (and more frequently). And perhaps I'll throw in a few plot twists her and there, just to liven things up. Once again, sorry for the long, long wait. The next chapter should make up for the absence of everything here. By the way, my keyboard is dying, so if there are any misspellings, please tell me and I'll jam up the 'e' key for it._


	4. Revolution of the Wheel of Fortune

**Flatline**

_I think you know whom it's by. If you don't, you fail._

_Disclaimer: I don't own SO3 yada yada blah blah… All right, next._

_Update: Bought a new keyboard. The other one was interrupting my thought process with all the mistakes. This one types nice and smooth… Yay. By the way, I'm really wingin' it for Vox's attitude. I've not heard a line from him in a _long _time, so if I'm off, so sorry. All I know is he's a caustic asshole. Extended version of this chapter can be found at ht tp//w ww. Live journal. Co m/ tfc ffn_

_(Just take out the spaces and add an underscore between tfc and ffn.)_

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The tips of his hair glowed molten gold as the sun's rays embraced him. Calm winds goaded his untamed hair to tease his fine features before retiring to the bridge of his nose in quiescent complacency. His violet skirt whispered and stirred about his legs lethargically, almost listlessly. His deific looks never reflect the turmoil plaguing the young swordsman; only the pellucid, virulent gaze would accomplish such a task. Once again his mind wandered to the perplexing events that occurred previously, and the absence of linking between them led him to believe that there was a daedal collusion that was focused on him.

A month had passed since he resurfacing of Vox, yet no explanation for the event had arisen. Albel was quite disconcerted over the matter, but even Woltar had disregarded the tribulation of the young captain as nothing more than the entangling of memories after a concussion. Paltry investigations took place a week after the incident, but uncovered nothing and quickly ceased. Albel soon learned that the only reason that the king had anyone look into the claim was because of his high rank. He soon became disgusted and unsatisfied with the investigation and decided to take matters into his own hands.

Elegant, timeless oak doors were thrown open carelessly as the Twisted one stalked into the lavish room. The one he sought stood behind an intricately carved redwood desk, shifting through and completing grants, endowments, and other documents in a meticulous fashion. The crashing of the doors was indicative of Albel's presence, and he needn't look up to affirm that belief.

"Good morning, Albel," Woltar greeted.

"Old man." Albel acknowledged without a glance in the Storm captain's direction. He quickly eased himself into a fine wicker chair, which, juxtaposed to the desk, held little beauty.

Albel was quiet for a time, simply picking at his nails without a sarcastic remark, retort or glare. It worried him greatly. "Is something wrong, boy?"

"Quit calling me that," Albel snapped. If there was anything he hated more than Vox, it was Woltar's insolence. "What's going on?"

Woltar ceased his tending to business and scrutinized the young man. He speculated that the last three words of Albel's sentence were an attempt at conversation, albeit it was small talk. "Well, not much outside of the usual business. Later, I was planning on attending a-"

"I could give a damn about your pointless life… I was talking about the king's affairs. And don't bother giving me some roundabout answer; I don't have time for that. If you don't know, then the least you could do is quit wasting my time and dying already. I'm tired of your comparing me to my father."

"You should've caught on by now, boy. The king's affairs are the king's affairs. You should consult _him _if you want to know what he's been doing. But I'm interested in what's ruffled you so; what's stirred you up so much as to disrespect me like that."

"It's none of your business, old man…" Albel sneered in disgust at Woltar's prying curiosity, and stood to leave. The Storm captain tried to reply before the wizened man left, but Albel whirled around and walked out of the room in the same angry gait with whence he came.

"He's nothing like you, Glou," Woltar spoke aloud. "Even after all he's gone through, he's still nothing like you."

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Albel was in deep thought as he let his feet guide him around the algid city. The bitter cold of the snowstorm numbed the scantily-clad captain's body, causing a nagging thought at the back of his mind about possible frostbite. He pushed it away. There were no new leads, and the ones he had were dead ends. There was nowhere left to go for his search. Perhaps it was just a simple delusion?

"The problem with you is- there are a lot of problems with you- but you're too damn stupid, Albel. I don't know what he keeps you around for. Maybe I should do my old king a favour and off you right now."

Albel whirled around angrily, and stopped dead in his tracks. Vox's sword was a half-inch away from his throat and any further movement could dispose of his vocal cords. "What is it you want, Vox? You've never had the balls to kill me before, so why the sudden change, maggot?"

"I've never had the _chance _to kill you before. My king's orders say I should bring you back ASAP, but I think I'll break you in before he gets ahold of you." Vox's expression remained stoic.

Albel was beginning to lose his patience. "You're a damned fool. I'm already his captain, or didn't you notice?"

Vox shook his head and touched his blade to Albel's throat, breaking the skin. A trickle of crimson contrasted the young Captain's pallid complexion perfectly. "Arzei was the fool. There is no better king to serve than the king of the dead. You're lucky, _kid_, he seems pretty interested in you. I'd have sent you back in pieces had he not demanded that you were brought back _alive_."

Albel unsheathed his sword and deflected the broadsword away from his throat. "You've lost it, Vox. You're despicable. You can preach about your womanish fairy tales all you please, but don't be offended if I carve out your vocal cords to save myself from going deaf."

"Just try it." Vox charged the younger man with his sword raised, executing a downward slash with amazing force. The lithe Captain sidestepped the attack and counterattacked with a horizontal slash. His sword cut clean through Vox without any resistance. Albel's stony countenance faded temporarily and a shocked expression shaped his features. Vox smirked. He raised his sword during Albel's recovery time and thrusted the hilt into the young captain's left temple. Albel stifled a yell before collapsing, unconscious. "You're so flawed," Vox reprimanded. "If you'd have let out a goddamned yell, then maybe someone would've noticed that something was afoot. I don't know why he's so interested in a weak bastard like you." The sinewy man threw Albel over his shoulder and proceeded down the alleyway from whence he came.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Albel came around to the smell of raw sewage and rotted remains. Albel grimaced both because of the pungent scent that lingered like fog and the aching throb of his head that blurred his vision. Dizziness constricted him and he struggled to right the swaying duplicates of the repulsive room. Chains and shackles dangled from the ceiling in large amounts, as if the room were a mass holding cell. The bare stone walls were caked with grime, sweat, filth, blood, and other unidentifiable substances. There was virtually no lighting, and the lone lamp hanging down from a chain provided muted light. The sound of what Albel assumed were footsteps echoed through the barren cage, a squelching sound followed by a sucking sound, like a boot treading on and then forcefully ripping out of putrefying human flesh. The sound warned Albel of what's to come, and he instinctively tried to escape into the darkened areas of the room. Chains proved his tactics futile and unmercifully jerked him back into place. Manacles bound his hands and feet, and another chain was attached to the manacle already present around his neck. There was no possible way to escape.

"Haven't you realized that I'm your superior yet?" Vox asked, irritated. "You can't run. And there's no possible way you could put up a fight after what I did to you in the abandoned plaza. You might as well admit it, Nox: you're done for."

"That's what _you _think, Vox." Albel took a moment to study his surroundings once again, since his vision had cleared. "Where are we? I don't recognize this atrocious pit."

"This is your tomb, Albel. To Airyglyph, you'll have mysteriously disappeared, never to be heard from again. No one will miss an incompetent soldier like you."

"_You're _the incompetent one, Vox!" Albel retorted angrily. He snarled at the barely visible man. "You lost to that band of failures and you died in that invasion! At least _I'm _still living!"

"Not for long, _Albel the Wicked_." He smirked. "You're forgetting that _I _received your father's position as captain of the Dragon Brigade because of _your _inefficacy in the Accession of the Flame ritual. Your father died because of your weakness, and now you're locked in a dungeon far away from civilization and no one gives a _damn_ that you're nowhere to be found. I don't even see why your beloved king kept you around. You can't control your subordinates, you can't defend our mines, and you can't even live up to your father's name. You probably _fuck_ him for that position of Captain, don't you? You filthy. Little. Whore."

Albel expected to be absolutely livid from Vox's speech, but instead he found himself confronted with mixed feelings. He felt anger at both Vox and himself, yet a feeling of ultimate failure and a questioning of his right to live in his father's stead. It was a quixotic goal he had set for himself, he realized. Vox was right. As much as he loathed to admit it, Vox was right. Shelby acted of his own accord in the capturing of Nel's underlings, and the blue-haired halfwit Fayt had defeated him at the Bequerel mines. Albel really _was _an incompetent soldier.

Two-toned hair concealed his face as he shook his head in defiance of Vox's biting cynicism. "And what does that say about you, since I've outlived you?"

Vox laughed. It was a cold, heartless laugh, fitting for their surroundings. "Lady Fortune only smiles upon the insolent. Women always fall for the failures."

"That's a pitiful excuse. It's always like you to go by the lowest and dirtiest shit there is. You can't even kill a man in a fair duel. You have to use the cowardly methods of assassination while your victim's asleep, or restrain 'em so they can't fight back. You deserved to die."

Vox smirked. "Going by the book is wasting more energy on you than you're worth." He resumed his saunter toward the Wicked One. Slowly, he encircled the chained man, surveying him with obvious satisfaction. "If only you were a woman, Albel. Then you'd be more useful."

The lithe Captain could feel Vox's hands exploring the vast amounts of bare skin exposed between his top and skirt. "Don't _touch_ me, you pitiful _corpse_!"

"You're in no position to threaten me, _Captain_."

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Albel awoke in his designated prison cell, throbbing with pain and unable to move. He felt wretched about what had happened. He felt used. Finally opening his eyes, he surveyed his surroundings once more to reveal, to his dismay, that the room had no windows. He had no way of telling what time it is, or how long it has been since his despised rape. He also had no idea if Vox was coming back, or if it was his plan to leave him here to starve to death. For the first time in his life, Albel felt utterly defeated. He was disgusted with himself for his inability to stop his rival from taking advantage of him. Albel's arms were released albeit his feet were still chained, but he lacked the energy and drive to free himself completely. Instead, Albel rested his head on his arms and let unconsciousness claim him.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Yeah, so that turned out pretty well. More words than I expected. I've already got the beginning of the next chapter in mind, so stay tuned. Also, weren't you impressed with the update time? Wednesday instead of Saturday, which was when I expected to have it done. I've forgotten how fun writing is. Well, thanks for reading, everyone!


	5. Catharsis of his Sufferance

**Flatline**

_Wonder who it could be by…_

_Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own much, and certainly not Star Ocean. And I'm not getting paid for this._

_Warning: They swear. Yeah, I know I never warned about the worse things in the last chapter, but you'll live._

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Albel was roused to the dolor of his future tomb and raised himself into a sitting position slowly. Sharp pain protested his actions, but it was tolerable. The blood mixture had coagulated on his leg, and he picked it off along with the grime that was plastered to his arms from falling asleep in the grime. The Twisted One rubbed the bleariness from his eyes with the back of his hand and tried to focus on the task of escaping after dressing once again. Surveying the chains, he surmised that he should be able to free himself using his claw. Sure enough, he crushed the chains binding him and stood unsteadily. Leaning against the wall for support, he walked a few paces along the wall before his legs collapsed beneath him. "Goddammit…" he muttered aloud. Once again he clambered to his feet and relied on the wall to be his crutch as he made his way to the lone door on the far side of the room. His dungeon seemed to elongate as he scratched and pulled his way along the grimy, blood-caked wall, and his destination never grew closer. After what seemed like hours of toil, the lithe man finally made it to the filthy door, his only exit. He placed his right hand on the knob and rotated it when he heard the click of the latch barring his escape. "Goddammit all!" He shouted to the room, disgusted with the futility of his efforts. "How the hell am I supposed to escape this fucking hellhole? How the hell am I supposed to…" His grip loosened on the knob and he slowly slid down to the floor. "Fuck it." He cursed, digging his claw into the sturdy, once-oak door before him.

"Not having a good day, Albel? If you had joined me the first time we met, none of this would've happened to you. Vox would not have locked you in this dungeon after having his way with you, your dignity would still be intact, and you would've seen your father once again. All you need to do is welcome Death and all will-"

"Shut up." Albel commanded. "I'd rather live in this filthy shithole than die and become your personal sex toy." _I couldn't face my father knowing that. I doubt I'd be able to look him in the eyes _now.

"What a pity." The ethereal figure of Romero tsked. "I guess I'll have to kill you myself, then? Or should I like your archenemy finish you off and gloat about it?"

"Neither. Just leave." He was exhausted. He hadn't eaten in what he guessed was days, and pain takes a lot of energy to sustain. Aside from that, he was tired of the shenanigans of the King of the Dead and much preferred the company of Fayt and his friends to _those _two puppeteers. He clawed at the door as best he could in hopes of reaching the other side, but he only came a quarter of the way through when he realized that the attempt would dull his claws much too quickly. Neither of his weapons were made for digging through anything thick. He heaved an exasperated sigh and settled for placing his back to the door and watching the translucent firefly that was trying to con him into dying or becoming a necrophiliac, he wasn't sure which.

The King of the Dead regarded him with an enigmatic gaze. "Have you decided?"

"No." He wasn't in the mood for sarcastic retorts.

"Then I will decide for you. I'd rather you come back alive than in pieces." He hovered toward the spent man, his feet never touching the ground. He looked like a god amongst the wretched prison, with a slight glow about him and his silvery hair floating with little effort. Albel let his eyes drift to the shadow of wings on the ground and fixed his vision on the sight.

"Cheater."

"Hmm? If it's within my power, then it's fair play, is it not? But then again, I guess it's like sore losers, such as yourself, to cry cheater when things aren't going their way."

Albel closed his eyes and sighed in hopes of calming his nausea. Slowly, he began to explain himself. "You're a cheater. You won't even go near me after our first fight, and then you send a lackey to assassinate me. Then _he _decides o put me through hell and you only show up when I can't even stand on my own two goddamn legs. Above all that, you even cheat at levitating. You have wings."

"It doesn't matter how you win, as long as you win." Romero replied, with a reassuring smile. He teleported next to the young Captain and extended a hand to him. "Come with me and I'll deliver you the catharsis of your sufferance. If not, then I shall simply leave you to die a weakling's death in this putrid chamber. Which do you choose? Ultimately you _will _be mine, even if it takes sixty years. Everyone has to die, Albel, the only eternity comes in death."

Which was the right decision? Albel realized that what the pale deity said was true: he _would _die eventually. There was no way around it. But would he deny the man beside him once again and die in this filthy pit, or should he take his hand and join him, and be exempt from such a demeaning fate? He tried to employ logic, as Fayt had taught him to do.

"I may be eternal, but I cannot wait for your answer forever, Albel Nox." He declared impatiently. "I have things to do."

The swordsman closed his eyes once again and listened to the asymmetrical rhythm of his heartbeat and breathing. It felt like he couldn't keep going. Perhaps joining Romero would be the right thing to do. Reality began to ripple and sounds and images mixed together. He couldn't concentrate. He felt himself slowly falling backward, as if into the abyss of death that he'd been so desperate to escape. When he opened his eyes, the towering visage of Vox greeted him. He quickly glanced about the room to discover that Romero was nowhere to be found.

"Trying to escape, huh? Nice try." He picked up the younger man by the chain and brought him to eye level. "It's time for you to meet my king." He drew forth his sword and passed it over Albel's eyes. He pointed it at the Twisted one's chest and pulled back, ready to impale him.

"Stop!" Arzei commanded, determined to save the two-tone. "I don't know who you are, but I order you to refrain from impersonating a dead man and release him."

"So you'll get to live for another few days, what of it? We'll win in the end." The older man dropped Albel and walked further into the room, vanishing in the shadows.

The king rushed to his captain as he collapsed on the floor, too drained from sickness and lack of food to support himself. "Are you all right, Albel?"

"I never thought I'd be glad to see you…" He mumbled, with a smirk. "I _told _you that I saw Vox again… But you didn't believe me…"

Arzei gestured for his men to help the exhausted man to his feet and carry him to the nearest doctor. Before the group departed, Arzei addressed Albel one last time. "I apologize for not heeding your concerns, Albel. It'll never happen again. By the way, we'd have never discovered this spot had it not been for that redheaded woman who tipped us off. You should try to thank her sometime."

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_Short chapter, I know. But it's quality and not quantity, right? I just wanted to get him out of there so I could proceed with the next plan. Thanks for reading, everyone._


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